


a story is true, a story is untrue

by RainbowSnek



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Canon, aka the fix-it part is explicit but not the main focus, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowSnek/pseuds/RainbowSnek
Summary: This is the ghost story of Captain James Flint.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	a story is true, a story is untrue

There is a story that sailors dare to tell only in the dead of night, in hushed tones, for fear that saying the name too loud will summon something far more terrible that the vengeful water of a stormy sea itself. A story that can make even the most hardened of men tremble in their beds, too terrified to fall asleep, or even to blow out the candles on their bedside table. A story about the dread pirate Captain Flint.

 _He died on Skeleton Island,_ they say, _but he ain't dead no more._

Some say that he was never a man at all, that he came from the ocean, fully formed and full of rage, that he can control the waves and the wind— call forth a storm, the might of which like none before, then becalm the ocean for weeks on end, just to torment those he believes have wronged him. Others say that Flint's soul was pledged to the devil by a powerful witch, but that he is too stubborn to listen to the call of Lucifer, and that is why his ghost still haunts the land of the living. In any case, everyone knows the important part, and the important part is this:

Towards the end of the year of our Lord 1715, the Walrus set sail towards Skeleton Island and never returned. In the hold, there was a chest filled to the brim with pearls, enough to make kings of half the men on the crew. Captain Flint wanted the treasure all to himself, but he couldn't just steal it and run, so he buried it in a place so well-hidden that despite the many men who tried in the following years, not one found it. But his crew learned of the Captain's treacherous schemes and a few brave men followed him, for that cache rightfully belonged to all of them. Flint murdered every last one of them. Cut them down like they were nothing but cattle to be butchered. The only one who stood a chance against the tyrannical Captain was Long John Silver, once a friend of his, but now sworn enemy. They battled for a day and a night, and, by the end, Silver prevailed and shot Flint dead. But Silver was badly injured himself, and, crawling towards where the Walrus had been anchored, he had only time to see it aflame and sinking to the bottom of the ocean before he, too, perished.

Now this is where the interesting part comes. If you paid attention to what I said before, you will recall that many a man sailed to that wretched place in search of Flint's treasure and came back empty-handed. But each and every last one of them swears on their mother that they were not alone. That demonic forces were at play.

It is said that, at sundown, fog descents on the island, so thick that you cannot see a lantern three paces ahead of you. This fog does not yield until the sun comes up, but as the clock strikes midnight, it glows with ghostly apparitions— more precisely, the ghosts of the late Walrus crew. One can hear swords clashing and the sound of dying men all through the night, and if one is to wander too close to these spectres, he is not long for this world. Those who had seen the undead of the island and lived to tell the tale hadn't done so with sound minds, for each and every one of them went incurably mad when they saw the terrible apparition of none other than Captain Flint. 

It is also said that, if you are not yet arrived at, but in sighting distance of the island when night falls, you can see the Walrus floating on the water, a ghost ship for the ghosts of Skeleton Island. It is a sight far more spine-chilling than that of the Flying Dutchman.

But the island is not the only place where the phantom of Captain Flint resides, and that is why sailors still live in fear of his name. If he can travel wherever he pleases, what's to stop him from entering your house, unheard and unseen, and slaying you in your sleep? Quite a few men swear up and down that they saw him on the streets of Boston, and that you can sometimes even hear him say—

"You little shit."

"Hey! Don't interrupt, I wasn't done yet."

"But I am," James says, standing up from the table. He takes Silver's half-eaten plate with him, despite the protests. The cat deserves it more that he does. "Did you actually hear this somewhere, or did you just come up with it?"

Thomas pokes his head in from the kitchen. "He's not making it up, love. We heard it together at the tavern," he says, and comes to wrap his arms around James. "Does it upset you so much?"

James can only sigh.

"I suppose it is a good thing that all of us are considered dead."

" _Un_ -dead, Captain." Silver punctuates his remark with a kiss on his cheek. "But I know just the thing that will cheer you up."

"Oh, you do?" James raised an eyebrow at Silver, who takes Thomas by the hand and leads him to the bedroom.

"Come to bed and find out," he throws over his shoulder with a wink as he and Thomas slip away through the door.

He supposes he will.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> I haven't finished any fics in years, and I wrote this at 4 am in one sitting on my notes app, proof-read it once, and then posted it, so if it has typos or doesn't really make sense, feel free to leave a comment. Honestly, I'm just happy I managed to write something besides school essays.  
> Cheers!


End file.
